


Manusya

by Billywick, selwyn



Series: A Shudder Before The Beautiful (Transformers Roleplay fiction) [3]
Category: The Transformers (IDW Generation One)
Genre: M/M, PNP, Sparkmerging, Sticky
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-17
Updated: 2016-08-17
Packaged: 2018-08-09 10:05:45
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 17,050
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7797598
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Billywick/pseuds/Billywick, https://archiveofourown.org/users/selwyn/pseuds/selwyn
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>quo fata ferunt: where the fates bear us to.</p><p>Optimus and Megatron have stood divided by ideologies, a war, and a lifetime of mutual destruction. Then the war was over and the Cause died, leaving four million years of memories between them. It had to be resolved, for the greater good of Cybertron. At least no one would tell them how they had to resolve it.</p><p>(In which tension is resolved, unspoken things are said, and bonds are forged.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> (This is a behemoth of a roleplay which is loosely based on the happenings of MTMTE. As per usual for my uploaded roleplays, there is a lot of pov hopping. If that doesn't disrupt your enjoyment, I invite you to join our adventure. The parts will be posted in reading order and tagged by which pairing they address.)

Everything that could go wrong had definitely gone wrong. They could count themselves lucky that there had been no casualties, only a hell of a lot of work for the medics after Overlord’s assault. Again, the Phase Sixer had retreated when he understood that Megatron’s antimatter control was no one-trick show. Again, his appearance had wrought disaster upon Megatron’s allied Autobots.

The Peaceful Destiny was reduced to her slowest travelling speed, almost in worse shape than the Lost Light. To make matters infinitely worse, the DJD had escaped from the secured brig, their two guards brutally murdered and almost beyond repair. One of them, Pistoncracker, was long cold and grey by the time anyone got there to check on matters.

And Optimus had had his servos so full that Megatron had to help out. Outposts needed to be alerted, High Command needed to react and command had to be resumed.

Which somehow left Megatron with the unbecoming task of finding out how the DJD had escaped without an outside breach to their cells. As if someone had simply opened all the doors...

“Alright, Ratchet. You wanted to see me?”

It had been a surprise when the surly mech commed him for a private meeting after he announced the search for the DJD’s mysterious escape circumstances. Megatron swore after he took care of this, he’d wash for two hours and get recharge.

 

Ratchet was nursing a drink when Megatron finally showed his grey mug through the doors of the medibay. He was in no mood for dealing with any of the grey mech’s usual slag and his order was curt. “Sit. Just listen.”

He jabbed a hard finger in the direction of the chair. Ratchet’s field with a wild mix of bitter anger, shame at himself, and general disgust at the state of the world.

“I hear,” he started abruptly, “that you and Optimus are scrambling to get a handle on the situation after Overlord and the DJD. Fixing damages, contacting people -- all that. I’ve been holed up in here, repairing folks, while you two ran around, which is why I never got a chance to properly discuss this with any of you. Beyond things like _How did Overlord find us_ and other slag, I know you’ve been wondering _How in the slagging Pits of Unicron did the DJD get out_.”

Ratchet slammed his drink down on the desk. Energon sloshed around his digits, spilling droplets on the desk’s surface.

“I know how.” His anger grew more potent, contempt competing for dominance in his EM field. “It was fragging _Pharma_ . Fragging Pharma who got them out, fixed them, and stole the ship. I _told_ Optimus we couldn’t trust him!”

 

“Pharma?” Megatron was dumbfounded, to say the least. The designation wasn’t familiar to him, only in brief passing when Optimus had dealt with a disturbing case of patient-doctor relations. A medic had helped the DJD?

“But...what reason would have for doing so? Op...Prime didn’t go into specifics, but I was under the impression that he wanted an Autobot medic to repair the DJD to basic functionality.”

It made little sense. Though there had been traitors amongst both factions, they seldom came from the Autobot side and especially not now that the war was basically over. Ratchet’s ire could only mean that he some personal input on the judgement of this Autobot medic in question.

 

“It started out as Optimus wanting them repaired. Pharma went for the job when I refused, went in, and fixed them. During the day of the bar celebrations -- you were there -- I ran into Pharma. He was covered in dents, injured… I thought he lost a fight. He tells me he was raped by Tarn, tries to keep me quiet on the matter.”

Ratchet looked disgusted. He pulled out files from his desk, passing it over to Megatron. “Those are my notes on his injuries, everything from his general physical to his valve. It looked like a convincing case to me, so we called it in, then sent Pharma to psych for evaluation and counselling.”

Ratchet crossed his arms, scowling heavily. “Turns out? Little glitch was lying. He covered until he managed to sneak into the brig where the DJD were so he could break them out. Pharma wasn’t lying about the interface, but he _was_ lying when he said it was nonconsensual. Somehow, sometime, he took up with _Tarn_ of all people, and is sentimental enough to run away with them. _Idiot_.”

 

Not the story Megatron was expecting. Out of all Decepticons, Tarn was the least likely to take up anything with an Autobot, unless it was specifically useful. He supposed it had worked out for his former hound. He wasn’t shocked by the lack of loyalty. Not all Autobots agreed with their faction or upheld the moral station that Optimus had guarded for four million years. Pharma wouldn’t be hunted for his betrayal.

But that level of deception? It sounded as if the medic had been sketchy far before he ever came aboard the Peaceful Destiny. Megatron rifled through the files, face completely neutral as he read the descriptions of what appeared to be a violent incident. To him, it sounded a lot more like regular interfacing among Decepticons. Dents were nothing to be ashamed of, many mecha left them on their ‘facing partners as victory trophies. Signs of dominance.

It was Pharma’s personnel information that Megatron found interesting.

“He was stationed on Messatine?” that would explain any access Tarn had had. Maybe Pharma had been coerced into being a useful sleeper. Not Tarn’s usual style, but not out of the question.

“You seem to be taking this personally, Ratchet. Was he a...friend of yours?”

 

“Head of Delphi on Messatine,” Ratchet grunted, “We were colleagues. Trained together. We were two of the best, and he wanted to surpass me. I thought he was doing fine, until the _Lost Light_ came to Messatine and found Pharma engineering a disease that killed anyone who transformed. It was impressive work, but he’d lost anything resembling good in him then. Tarn got to him, twisted him up until he became another monster.”

Ratchet examined his servos. They were Pharma’s, once. They served him just as well as his old ones had. Perhaps Pharma could’ve surpassed him, one day.

“That’s how they got out. Pharma.”

 

Megatron wouldn’t pretend to know whether or not it was a shame to have lost Pharma from their side. Considering Tarn’s influence though, he felt remotely guilty. Tarn, the monster he created, was still out there, twisting good mecha to his will.

“Tarn uses mecha. It’s unusual of him to recruit an Autobot, willing or not, to his side. Your colleague is most likely dead if he’s outlived his usefulness.” Megatron could predict a lot worse for an Autobot amidst the DJD, but he held his glossa.

“Do you think it was Tarn? Through Pharma? If he’s still alive, he’s become...a traitor.” He used that word with extreme caution.

 

“He _is_ a traitor, and I’ve been trying to convince people to not trust him. Only now does Optimus realize it and, hopefully, stop giving second chances to criminals.” Ratchet gave him a pointed look. “Sometimes, people _don’t_ change. They only need to be put down.”

 

Megatron tensed at that. Ratchet had always been very opinionated, but sometimes, he just sounded like a grumpy old bigot of a mech. It certainly didn’t endear him to people, but Megatron kept his opinion fairly neutral. The mech had fixed him up again and again, after all.

“Then it is my fault. I should have killed Tarn when I had the chance. Now, he will hunt again.”

Of course it was his fault. He held back. He didn’t slaughter the DJD and he had employed Optimus’ mercy when they were captives.

The former warlord rose up to leave.

“Thank you for the information. That’s at least one mystery solved.”

 

“Yes, you should’ve,” Ratchet muttered. “They’re practically dead on the slab, and you and Optimus look at them and think that fixing them is the better option. Put their spark in a box, they’re alive enough.”

Ratchet glanced at Megatron. “They’re going to be going after you,” he said. “And you’ll be putting everyone around you in danger. Same with Overlord. Why do you and Optimus never handle things _permanently_?”

 

“I’ve caused enough death for millions of lifetimes.” Megatron snapped. It was outside of what he strove for these days, to lose his temper in any regard, but this was an issue close to spark.

“I’m trying to solve my mistakes without turning everything to _slag_.”

Optimus was supportive of this new approach, but plenty of people disagreed. The Autobot morality of saving every living thing didn’t extend to Decepticons. Megatron may have surrendered the war, but he wasn’t ready to give up entirely on the people he had lead.

 

“Primus forbid your precious moral code get compromised,” Ratchet said acidically. It didn’t have its bite though, and he looked away. “You still should’ve killed them. You certainly had no issue before.”

That was unfair, though. Ratchet knew it, deep in his spark, but he found himself unable to be sorry for it. “Tarn and the DJD aren’t your usual run-of-the-mill ‘cons. They’re animals. This isn’t just you, it’s going to affect everyone fool enough to follow you. Including Optimus.”

 

“They are not animals, Ratchet. They are mecha. With twisted minds, a fanatical code and I am to blame for them. What does that make me? Don’t bother answering, I’ve heard it all before.” Megatron sighed again, he was doing a lot of that lately.

“They will be martyrs to all remaining Decepticons if they die. It would make my surrender pointless if we executed them without a trial, without the proper channels in place.”

Politics. Politics were always at the forefront of his thoughts, even though he was so endlessly tired of them.

 

“Politics,” Ratchet spat, disgusted. “Cybertron’s got Starscream running around, ruining everything. Don’t talk to me about politics, I was elbow-deep in it before you ever dreamed up _Towards Peace_ . What I’m telling you isn’t _politics_.”

Ratchet pointed at Megatron, expression gravely serious. “I knew Optimus when he was Orion Pax. He’s got a bleeding spark for anyone and everyone, and seems to think he just has to keep giving up pieces of himself until there’s nothing to left to help the world. You’re one of his longest cases that he has some pathological inability to give up on, and Optimus will probably follow you into the Pits of Unicron if you asked. He believes in you, against all common sense, and that is going to get him _hurt_.”

“If you break Optimus beyond repair one day -- because I’ve been personally putting him together each time you broke him -- I’ll know. Maybe then, I’ll just watch you die and tell everyone there was nothing I could do. Optimus is better than all of us, and he doesn’t deserve to have you break him.”

 

How had this become about Optimus? Megatron observed Ratchet for a long moment. The mech had been at Orion’s side for longer than he and the Prime had been enemies, following him loyally through it all though he seemed to have this natural, sour mood towards any living being. He supposed medics got to see the worst of a war, and had the least influence over its outcome. And Ratchet was definitely very vocal about how Megatron should be treated. Perhaps that wasn’t all bravado.

“He puts everything above himself. It’s what inspires people to be loyal to him. He is without doubt, the singular, strongest mech I have ever known. I don’t intend to be his downfall.” And he did mean that. If it was just up to him, he’d be out in the universe, fielding attempts on his life left and right. But Optimus wouldn’t, couldn’t let him go. Not now, and certainly not once they returned to their respective journeys. Which was the plan in the long term.

“I couldn’t break him in four million years of war as his worst enemy. I certainly won’t try now.”

“Good.” Ratchet waved him off irreverently. “Well? Shoo, out. You’re ruining the sterile environment. Go bother someone else.”

 

Megatron didn’t grace him with a farewell, understanding he wasn’t welcome any longer. That suited him just fine. With his mind heavy with yet more failures on his part, he made his way towards the captain’s quarters. Personal feelings had taken a backseat to dealing with the fallout, and Optimus ran things even when he wasn’t on duty on the bridge.

Besides, he’d rather not discuss the sensitive business of treachery in front of the entire crew.

He pressed the call button by the door, even though he probably could have just walked in. Optimus certainly wouldn’t be laying around, self-servicing. Not at a time like this, possibly never.

 

The universe would probably implode if it ever gave Optimus the kind of free time to just sit around self-servicing. He was holed up in his suite, stacks of reports around him, still trying to make sense of matters. There were the immediate problems on the _Peaceful Destiny_ , then there were the far-reaching damages of the DJD and Overlord’s free reign to deal with.

He was in the middle of arguing with Prowl over whether or not Cybertron should arm for war (“We have to be ready, Optimus!”), trying to parse Rodimus’ and his crews disparate accounts of their encounter with Overlord, and remind the Mistress of Flame that he was still needed in the field more than in the temple firmly, but politely.

He was so engrossed that it took him a whole minute to register Megatron’s presence and even then, he didn’t stop.

“Prowl, we can’t afford to look aggressive -- hello, Megatron -- than we already do and… what? Yes, he’s here, I don’t see what that’s got to do with anything. Of course I can discuss this near him. Prowl, you’re not -- Prowl!”

Optimus sighed, patience tried. Prowl’s face was gone from the screen.

“Did you need something, Megatron?”

 

“I didn’t mean to interrupt.” Megatron glanced at the screen. Prowl. That was a complicated mess in itself, but it was one he would never be dealing with. That was all Optimus. Who looked tired. Megatron felt strangely protective when he detected the low levels of energon and probably very distant memories of recharge. Optimus at his finest, giving all of himself for everyone else.

“I have an update on the DJD’s escape. And someone to register from missing to defected. I can come back later if you need to call him back.”

 

“Prowl can wait,” Optimus sighed, sagging in place. “Just tell me what’s happening. At least we’ll figure out how Tarn learned to become an escape artist while barely functioning.”

Optimus looked at Megatron closely. “Defection?”

 

“Yes. Tarn is not as much of an escape artist as we’re lead to believe.” Megatron deposited Pharma’s files in front of Optimus, continuing to observe all the signs of exhaustion about the other mech. Ratchet should spend his time convincing his friend to rest, not berating Megatron on how to treat him.

“A medic named Pharma freed him and apparently fled with him and the DJD. An Autobot traitor.”

 

Optimus took up the offered files and flipped through it, looking at the pertinent details. It sounded violent when described the clinical tones of the medical report, though it likely was more cosmetic damage than anything else. The final result though…

“Rape?” Optimus said, optics flashing in worry. “Did they use him?”

He remembered the medic. Tall, thin, meticulously designed. Snobby, but a tireless worker. Optimus didn’t know him well but… “I was the one to ask him to repair the DJD.” He rested his helm in his servos, antenna drooping. “I just wanted to keep them alive.”

 

Megatron shook his helm.

“It was a cover. He planned to free them all along. Or so Ratchet says. Apparently, it was consensual. I agree. That damage is superficial, if Tarn had really raped him, his torso would have been torn up a lot more than that. Besides, Tarn has committed many atrocities, but he’s never had to take someone against their will. He enjoys convincing his victims far too much.”

Megatron quelled the urge to touch those antennae. They were so damn expressive, they taunted him. This was not the time or the place to be thinking of such things, but he couldn’t help it.

“It wasn’t your fault.”

 

“Not directly. But I could’ve prevented it, and I didn’t. Anyone who dies because of them will be because I was too careless with Pharma.” Optimus grimly brought up the Autobot registry, locating Pharma on it. He was changed from _Autobot -- missing_ to _defector_.

“We need to find them. They have to be put to trial before they can hurt anyone else. Or you.” Optimus was digging through his reports again.”We’ll have to alert lookouts to observe passage routes for any suspicious vessels. There’s already a ping on all mechanism-serving planets to watch for people of their description, but they haven’t surfaced yet.”

Optimus sighed again. His antenna swivelled back, radiating apology. “I’m sorry, Megatron. You caught them, and I let them get out.”

 

“You have a terrible affliction of blaming yourself, do you know that?” Megatron offered his old nemesis a smile. He’d never thought anyone could be cheered up by his presence, but he could try here and now.

“You didn’t know Pharma was a traitor. Come on. Wallowing on your past mistakes is my domain.”

It wasn’t a strong presentation of humor, but Optimus needed only light conversation now. And care. Megatron felt fiercely in charge of caring for the mech.

“When was the last time you recharged, Optimus?”

 

“Not for the last four shifts,” Optimus confessed. He jabbed a thumb in the direction of his fuel, “It’s got stimulants to keep me awake so I can stay awake for another two at least. That’ll give me the time I need to sort out everything, get the _Peaceful Destiny_ towed back to Cybertron for full repairs, and organize the search for the DJD.”

Optimus paused. “I’ve been thinking, Megatron. About the DJD. More specifically, their name. They shouldn’t be called the Decepticon Justice Division anymore. It lends them credence, it keeps them tied to the faction even though the majority of you have surrendered. At least officially, we need to start referring to them differently.”

With a flick of his digits, Optimus brought up another screen. “From what I know of them, they’re supposed to be radicalist Decepticons, right? Stick to the principles, never abandon the Cause kind of deal… so I was thinking of referring to them Fundamentalist Decepticons.”

Optimus looked up at Megatron. “What do you think?”

 

Megatron just barely avoided pulling a face. Optimus had a good point in renaming the DJD, but fundamentalist decepticons didn’t exactly roll off of the glossa.

“That sounds logical enough. I wouldn’t bet on Tarn using any settlements, however. He showed up with Deathsaurus in tow. As far as I know, that mech still possesses a warworld,” which was a worrying concept in itself, except that Deathsaurus seemed content to live his battle planet in peace. He was probably being a better Decepticon leader than Megatron could ever have claimed to be, but his lack of surrender was a concern nonetheless.

“There’s no trace of the Peaceful Tyranny or the warworld. He’s sure to use either of them to regroup.”

Megatron settled himself close to Optimus and stared at the screen.

“No matter how radical about the cause they are, Tarn will return to find me.”

 

“I’m going to assume you approve the name,” Optimus said dryly. “I already had Prowl send out scouts to track down the warworld -- it formerly used to be on the Outer Rim, perhaps he went back there. No one’s seen the _Peaceful Tyranny_ yet, unfortunately. Wherever Tarn is, he’s laying low.”

“If I remember correctly, Pharma had no opportunity to rearm them. They’ll be looking for specialty items, I think, since fusion cannons and ununtrium isn’t exactly readily available. For that, I was thinking…”

Optimus paused. He toyed with the screen, seemingly debating with himself over something. Finally, he sighed.

“I have an offer for you, if you’re willing.”

 

“You’re giving me a choice?” Megatron watched Optimus, saw the endless weight those shoulders were burdened with. Could either of them even live without war or something this disastrous? It seemed unlikely.

“What is your offer?”

What was he thinking? Hunting Tarn would be a costly waste of time for either of them, although Megatron still didn’t really know if Optimus needed to be returning to Caminus at a point in time.

 

“There’s been… unrest from the Galatic Council. Relations with them have never been comfortable, but in the aftermath of the war… Prowl thinks they’re going to capitalize on recent events to start probing our defenses. He even said that the Fundamentalists might be another aspect of their plans. Use the new fracturing in the Decepticons to build distrust between Autobots and those who surrendered, use the active ‘cons to weaken defenses. We may not agree on a lot, but all of this sound entirely too probable.”

“My offer is this. Our people need to stand together more than ever. While there are still certain groups who want to kill you, people still support you. Instead of letting them break away, I propose a new way of bringing them back into the fold.”

Optimus brought up a new screen. It’s blue glow filled up the room as a ship, bigger than the _Peaceful Destiny_ , sleekly lined and silver, came up. “How would you like to captain a ship with me?”

 

Megatron eyed the ship. It was a magnificent piece of machinery, and it dwarfed the Lost Light and the Peaceful Destiny. The design didn’t reveal if it was armed or not, but Megatron assumed that if Optimus was proposing such a potentially lengthy mission, the ship came with a large crew, supplies and weapons. And a new purpose.

“What about the Knights of Cybertron? My judgement?” He wanted to say yes and skip his entire arc of redemption. Being trialed was a waste of his lifetime, he already lived with the heavy burden and sought to make amends through actions, not just penitence. But the politics involved may just explode all over Cybertron yet again.

Captaining a ship together with Optimus sounded like a trusted position, combining their considerable experience and most of all...it would lead to have time spent together, even if it was on a bridge. Optimus would no longer be galaxies away from him.

 

“Autobot military code dictates that a commander can utilize any resource at his discretion to ensure mission success, provided it doesn’t breach protocol. We can hold your trial back citing wartime atmosphere.”

“Perhaps,” Optimus smiled under his mask, “Perhaps if this works out, your final judgment may be more lenient. No one is quick to condemn a war hero.”

He sobered up quickly. “Still, I can’t be sure if this will come to war. I don’t want it to, but it seems fickle things like personal desire no longer matters. If we want peace, we must prepare for war.”

 

“Don’t we always?” Megatron was not so convinced about his status ever being changed from ‘deranged former warlord’, but it was good to see Optimus have hope. He always had been a beacon of it to his people.

“And the Lost Light? Rodimus? Will you let them continue on their path once the ship is repaired? I am willing to be...your co-captain,” he did suppress a smirk at that. The rank wasn’t real and yet here Optimus used it to maneuver them into proximity of each other and Megatron wholly approved.

“They’re in less danger if I am not with them.”

 

“That’s up to Rodimus,” Optimus said, “but I think it’ll be better for him if he stays on his own, away from us. He needs to learn peace, not war. And when have we ever taught anyone anything else than war?”

He zoomed in on the ship, bringing up details. “It’s still not finished,” he said with a twinge of regret, “since it was supposed to come online much further in the future. It’s stationed on Luna-1 for now, almost done. By the time we get to Cybertron and start preparing everything, she should be done. We haven’t named her yet.”

 

“Might I suggest nothing that involves the word ‘peace’?” Megatron moved a hand to Optimus’ arm, concerned by the low levels his field displayed. The mech needed recharge, not stimulants. Right. As co-captain of the future, he had a fundamental right to take care of his equal in rank.

“I’m also going to make my first official suggestion as your co-captain...get some rest, Optimus. You don’t need to handle everything on your own.”

The irony of his words was not lost on Megatron and he offered his former nemesis a rueful, tiny smile.

“A good mech told me that once. He always was far wiser than I.”

 

“I still have to --” Optimus tensed, then relaxed at the unexpected touch. A small pang of _apology_ wafted from him at the instinctual reaction to the touch. “I… understand. They can wait, Megatron, you’re right. The only problem is that I _can’t_ recharge.”

He looked bemused. “Stimulants haven’t run out yet. I probably will crash once they do, but recharge will evade me until then. So why not do work in the meantime?”

 

“Fine. But I am going to be your company. I promise to at least roll you onto your berth when you go down.” Megatron chuckled at the notion. In four million years, very few things had actually downed Optimus Prime, greatest and worst of the Autobots. A little recharge knocking him out seemed almost ridiculous.

“So what do you have of the Galactic Council to support your suspicions?”

It was over fifteen hours later that the stimulants finally wore down. Optimus and Megatron had done a massive amount of work, assigning crew-members to the new ship upon its completion, aligning all their reports of the DJD incident as well as Overlord’s attack and which mecha were in allegiance with him. Megatron wrote as Optimus handled in and outgoing calls. Sometimes, the former warlord had to retreat to the berth so the caller would not see him lingering in the background of Optimus’ quarters. There were plenty of mecha like-minded with Prowl’s suspicions and refused to discuss anything sensitive or important in front of him. Not everyone could understand Optimus enduring indulgence of Megatron’s presence.

No one else had to understand, either.

Megatron saw Optimus’ optics flicker, his energy levels at an all-time low, the stimulant seeping charge from the entirety of the mech. 

Which was a black servo was offered to him.

“Enough work, Optimus. Let’s recharge.”

Yes, he was making his moves at the speed of a glacier. Yes, he fully intended to recharge side by side. It was the most personal they could be right now, with everything else going on and resting on their shoulders. There was no time for feelings, but if Megatron could have five minutes before falling asleep with Optimus in peace, he would take them without question.

 

Optimus complied without protest, leaning heavily on Megatron’s shoulder as he followed his lead. His entire body felt lax now, recharge threatening to take over him as his optics dimmed, helm falling forward. He grabbed Megatron around the shoulder to keep himself going mostly straight.

“You’re warm,” he said lowly, pressing a smidgen closer to leech some of Megatron’s heat. His own had gone down as the stimulants finally wore off and everything ran on the lowest setting possible. “I… I wish we could do this more often…”

The berth was there, and Optimus gratefully collapsed onto it with a sigh. Megatron was right there and for once, it wasn’t alarming to see his big bulk looming over Optimus. He pulled Megatron down with him onto the berth and settled. Within seconds, Optimus was firmly asleep.

 

Megatron would have liked to use the opportunity for a softer exchange with his former nemesis, but Optimus seriously needed the rest. His bulky frame was humming in recharge within seconds of going down, leaving Megatron to arrange himself besides the Prime. He expanded his field to mingle with Optimus, passing gentle charge into his systems. He could get used to this. With Optimus asleep, Megatron had no qualms about wrapping his arm over the tri-colored frame, bringing them close together. He watched Optimus’ face, appreciating the fine lines that usually held a grim, serious expression, even behind his mask. Megatron stroked Optimus’ jaw, in awe that the mech trusted him deeply enough to recharge defenselessly right in front of him.

He shut down his comms, settling himself for a nap. He wasn’t nearly as spent as Optimus, but he still didn’t run on normal energon and his engine was always rasping. It didn’t take him long to find the peace to recharge as well.

 


	2. Chapter 2

Luna-1 held Cybertron’s biggest shipyard, which had gone unscathed despite the war. It was massive, stretching from one end of the Lunar Flats to the other, so vast no one could look at all of it in one go. Even Metroplex looked normal here.

Optimus and Megatron were in the foreman’s complex, watching their two ships, the  _ Peaceful Destiny  _ and the  _ Lost Light  _ get towed in deeper into the yard for repairs. They limped in like racehorses -- tired, broken, but proud despite the damage. However, the ship behind them dwarfed both.

The still unnamed vessel was a behemoth of engineering genius, outstripping any warbuilt ship in terms of speed, firepower, and pure majesty. It would be the flagship of Cybertron’s growing new fleet, and had to hold the appropriate gravitas.

Optimus appreciated the view, admiring the ship. “We really should name it,” he told Megatron, not taking his optics off her.

 

“Do you expect to break a cube on energon on the hull too?” Megatron chuckled, letting his optics travel the length of their future ship. She was beautiful, any amateur would be able to tell, but he knew the specifics. This behemoth would spread the appropriate message. Cybertron was in ruins, but it was by no means open territory to be claimed. They had to make that clear if they were going to face the Galactic Council. A weakness would prompt war on a new, epic scale, and Megatron would do anything to avoid it.

“I have a few ideas,” he continued softly, again touching Optimus’ shoulder. The number of exchanges between them, silent for the most part, had grown, and so had the recharging next to each other nightly.

“How about Awesome Primemachine? I think that has styling points, right Optimus, Megs?”

Rodimus sure knew how to interrupt. The flash mech sauntered over to the two older mecha, looking freshly washed and buffed and ready for adventure. His optics ticked over the Lost Light, his precious gift from Drift. He’d never forget that his best friend was willing to go to any length to support him.

Said swordsmech kept his distance, never at ease around Megatron, even though his intentions had become very clearly to be on the side of the Autobot cause. Deadlock was not a forgotten memory.

“Rodimus...” Megatron sighed, letting his hand drop from Optimus’ shoulder. Now was not the time to display his affection.

“Okay okay, I hear it. Machine’s not good enough for a big badass lady like that. Lady Liberty? Lady Cybertronian Liberty? Hm, no. I got it, just name her after me. That way, everyone wins.”

 

“Maybe we’ll name one of her pods after you,” Optimus said, looking amused, “Though isn’t there already a pod styled after you?” He turned around, fully facing Rodimus and Drift. The younger Prime had bounced back from his ordeal with his usual alacrity, now radiating an eager energy that Optimus could almost envy.

“The  _ Lost Light _ ’s repairs will be done soon,” he said, “And I thought you had to do supply runs. What happened there?”

 

“We’re taking care of it.” Rodimus waved off the question.

“Ultra Magnus sent him away.” Drift commented quietly, staring at Rodimus with nothing but exasperated fondness. And a sort of reverence that Megatron could only sigh at. He was definitely not going to be dealing with any more emotional messes. Not after Rodimus had several crying breakdowns about the mech who was now back at his side.

“And you came to bother us, why?”

“That’s cold Megsy. Really.” Rodimus pulled a face, patting Megatron’s massive chestplate. He couldn’t reach any higher anyway.

“Just checking in if you need anything before we get all resupplied and ready to roll. Any boring books or things, you gotta put on Magnus’ list. You know how he gets when something isn’t on a list.”

“Furious.” came Drift’s dry addendum.

 

And there was that peculiar friendship again. Optimus watched the exchange quietly. This was, perhaps, one of the first steps towards healing the rift. Rodimus represented a newer age and here was evidence that one day, someday, old crimes could be forgiven.

“Ultra Magnus means well,” he piped in, “And he seems happy. Happier, even. I think the _Lost Light_ ’s quest was a good idea, for everyone involved.”

He evaluated Rodimus, measuring. “You stand straighter,” he said approvingly. Little by little, Rodimus was getting ready. Optimus would handle this one last disturbance to the peace, and maybe he could finally let the mantle of power go.

“Still, Rodimus. You will have to seek out a new co-captain. There are rumors, up ahead and our peace may not last any longer. Megatron is needed here.”

 

That wiped the joy right out of Rodimus expression. He looked at Optimus, not understand for a long moment, then to Megatron who just shrugged his unspoken question of. 

“What do you mean, a new co-captain? Megatron is...what do you mean, here? He’s coming with us. We’re finding the Knights.”

Drift came closer now, overcoming his quiet respect and dislike for his former leader to be at his chosen Prime’s side. Rodimus looked as if someone had just turned his ship to rubble in front of him.

“You didn’t tell him.” Megatron commented, glancing at Optimus and his future successor. He had no idea how Rodimus would ever be capable enough to take over, but the choice wasn’t his.

“Tell me what?”

 

_ Maybe not entirely ready _ . Optimus winced as Megatron threw him under the bus, but covered it up impressively. He took a step forward, hand raised to rest on Rodimus’ shoulder.

“The mutiny, the former DJD’s attacks, and Overlord weren’t separate events,” he started, “And command’s been doing some digging as to why there’s been such a resurgence of faction-related violence. There might be a war coming. Cybertron can’t afford to look divided and for that, Megatron is needed. Your quest for the Knights still goes on, as does Megatron’s trial period. He is merely filling a role that dearly needs him. It may be nothing and he can resume duties aboard the  _ Lost Light _ .”

Optimus had underestimated how attached Rodimus was. Then again, hadn’t he fought an army of Decepticons for the hope of saving him?

 

Rodimus stared at Optimus, working out the details of what he had been told. He didn’t like it one bit. Optimus had entrusted him and his crew with Megatron, and now they were deemed unfit for it. One incident of being pinned by a Decepticon horde and boom, they couldn’t protect Megatron anymore? 

_ Inadequate. Useless. You’ll never be a Prime. _

The flashy mech schooled his expression from shocked surprise to stubborn resilience.

“We can handle danger. We took good care of him. Megatron belongs on the Lost Light. We all stood with him. I can handle it.  **You** _ trusted _ me with him.”

Megatron could not believe he was being argued over by Prime and successor. What was he, some sort of valuable collectible? Rodimus’ loyalty was admirable, but entirely misplaced. Megatron had been the one entrusted with an Autobot crew, and he had failed to protect them. It was entirely justified for Optimus and High Command to put him to a different use than traversing the stars on a mystical quest.

 

“This isn’t an evaluation of your performance,” Optimus told him, a hint of sternness entering his tone, “Nor am I implying Megatron can’t protect himself on the  _ Lost Light _ . I need his aid, Rodimus, now more than ever. I can’t have another war and Megatron is going to help me stop this one before it starts.”

Optimus glanced at Megatron.  _ ::Don’t  _ **_you_ ** _ have anything to say?:: _

 

Megatron didn’t want to say anything. His weird friendships/tolerance with Rodimus was embarrassing enough as it was, but now the flashy mech had to go and get all formidable with Optimus about keeping Megatron.

“Look, Rodimus, a lot of bad things happened to the crew in my presence. Not to mention the mutiny, Overlord, the other Lost Light...a good captain adapts to necessary changes. It is your ship. You know how to run it, and you have a mission.”

 

Rodimus didn’t seem to be buying it at all, opening his mouth to give contra, but Megatron talked right over him, raising his volume and sharpening his tone.

“You want to prove that you can captain without any senior supervision? You want to bear the title of Prime someday? Then turn on your brain module and  _ listen to me, _ ” there it was, that warlord tone of command, that voice that made legions bow to him and swear their sparks to his purpose. Megatron would be lying if he said that it didn’t fill a small void in his chest.

“ **Rise** above expectation and go do the impossible. Optimus and I can hold off another war, but you need to prepare to lead the  _ future _ . You are out of time to be hiding behind anyone else and it is your responsibility to prove those who doubt you wrong. You do not need me. You can do this on your own. Don’t be a fool Rodimus _ Prime. _ ”

Rodimus stared at him for a full five minutes, as did Drift, both of their sparks at elevated pulsations. Drift, perhaps lost in memory of a leader he used to look up to. Rodimus, absorbed by the meaning of Megatron’s confidence in him.

“...Wow Megatron. I got goosebumps. Feel my plating.”

A hiss of his ventral plating shifting had Rodimus sigh and concede defeat.

“Alright alright. I got it. I...thanks. And bye, I guess.”

Another moment of hesitation, then Rodimus had embraced Megatron in an awkward and (unwanted, Megatron suppressed a shudder) hug, or rather, his chestplate for just a second, then peeled away, firmly striding off. Drift bowed his head to Optimus, then met Megatron’s gaze, holding it for a long time.

“...Protect him well. Drift.”

Megatron said softly. The former Decepticon’s finials twitched, barely concealing his pride at the gesture, before Megatron too received a nod of respect and Drift departed.

 

_ … well then _ .

Just then, for only a brief moment, Megatron’s true self emerged. It wasn’t the full swing of his warlord days, but Optimus could tell how and why Megatron had put together a revolution from half a planet. He reset his vocalizer, mouth dry.

“He’s very attached to you,” Optimus said, resisting the urge to smile, “Just what exactly happened on the  _ Lost Light  _ for that to happen? Maybe you should repeat it with Prowl and Ratchet. It would makes things much easier.”

It was a weak attempt at humor, since Optimus did feel a little sorry for doing that. Not sorry enough to give Megatron back, but sorry nonetheless.

“You should still talk to him. Rodimus isn’t good with being… ignored.”  _ And he clearly seems more inclined to listen to you _ .

“He heard me. Leave him be. You coddle him too much, you do know that, right?” Megatron turned to Optimus as if nothing happened. Rodimus had said his farewell and that was that, as far as he was concerned.

As for repeating his experience with Prowl and Ratchet? He’d rather get triple tapped.


	3. Chapter 3

“If only it was as easy shape Cybertron’s new peace as to gain Rodimus’ respect, we wouldn’t have to take our nameless beauty out to the Galactic Council.” Finally he could put his hand back on Optimus’ frame. 

“You never told me about Caminus...”

 

“What is there to say?” Optimus leaned closer. “The Mistress of Flame thinks I’m being entirely unprimely, cavorting around battlefields and not performing ceremonies in a temple. I spent some time there getting worshipped literally -- a highly uncomfortable experience, let me assure you. Played the politics game with Starscream, argued with Prowl. Your Constructicons are still attached to Prowl, by the way. He’s very aggravated over it.”

Would anyone else barge in on their time together? Optimus wondered if the door was possible to lock. It was nice, finally having time to themselves like this. They always existed in a whirlwind of work and fighting and work, dancing between the leaders they were expected to be, and the mecha they were together.

“Caminus is very beautiful. You should visit it. I’ve never seen so many femmes in one place. Their whole architecture is different.”

 

Caminus could wait. Megatron found more beauty here, in a shipyard, mecha working hard to fulfill their duties and uphold the tender peace that had been so sorely needed. He had to picture Optimus as an exalted, holy figure. It wasn’t too far removed from reality, if he was perfectly honest. He could definitely see the Prime on a pedestal, which would make Optimus incredibly uncomfortable. He never wanted the leadership, whereas Megatron fought to gain it. They were different as night and day, but two parts of the same nonetheless.

This was nice. A moment of peace and quiet among the bustle of their lives. Could they make more of it than idle conversation? Megatron didn’t know, but he was willing to find out. 

“I’ll have to keep it in mind for my retirement.”

Retirement. He would be lucky if fate put him in a cell for the rest of his long life, but hope was a hard thing to kill. If he could spend any stretch of his time with Optimus, he’d call it a victory.

“Perhaps you and I can travel, one day. I’d like to be an uninvolved observer, for once.”

His servo traced idly over Optimus’, finding space for their digits to intertwine. A careful, subtle gesture of their new alliance. And of course, the unobstructed weight of unresolved feelings between them.

“That would be nice,” he agreed. He tugged Megatron closer, EM field buzzing with traces of nerves though none showed. His mask slid back.

The inevitable had been postponed, for now. They’d been skirting the issue again, the entire trip back, not even discussing what’d gone down in the small hallway between the bridge and the main ship. That’d always been their way -- all the unsaid things that they refused to navigate for fear of confronting what lay behind the fog.

“Megatron,” Optimus said and hesitated, realizing his words had failed him here.  _ Do you want me  _ was too tripe, too juvenile for all the years between them.  _ I love you  _ wasn’t even an option.

“I don’t want it to be too late. For us.” Again, the unsaid, the unseen. Two old cowards, the both of them.

 

Two old cowards that had left things unsaid for millenia, and now couldn’t bear to wait any longer. Megatron looked upon Optimus’ face, once more marvelling at its quality. Optimus, for all his war-hardened glory and edges, was a beautiful mech. He roused thoughts and emotions in his mind and spark that Megatron thought long extinguished, and he always would.

“It’s not too late yet,” he replied, optics glowing rather softly in the heavy metal of his face. It was both question and invitation, careful and yet hopeful. Yes, they’d run from this and fled themselves into mutually assured destruction, but that was no longer an option they were willing to consider. Megatron felt yearning and want, aching deep in every strut. That little moment so long ago in the hall, it had been mere tinder to what awaited them, should they choose to stride down this path together. Together. As they always should have been. Megatron found poetic irony in the fact that his greatest enemy was, had always been, his greatest love.

 

“Do you really think so?” Optimus curled fingers over the the edge of his collar faring, just above where the red sigil of the Autobots rested, and pulled Megatron down, so their faces were level. “Are you sure about this?”

Optimus pushed Megatron back, pressing him against the big windows they’d been viewing out of. From this high, no one should be able to see them clearly, but Optimus thumbed the blackout controls anyway. The windows turned opaque, concealing them.

“I don’t -- I can’t do it simply, you know. No strings attached won’t happen.”

 

“Who said anything about no strings attached, Optimus? We’ve always been attached.” Megatron definitely could feel some heat rising through his old tanks when Optimus seized control of him. He wouldn’t appreciate being dominated by anyone else, but the Prime was his special weakness. Always had been. He let his servos rest on Optimus’ face for a moment, stroking the revealed derma.

“If you would have me...”

Then what? What was Megatron offering? Only fools held relationships this personal, this important. It was weakness to be attached, he had preached that over and over again...The Decepticon in him objected so strongly, but Megatron was stubborn. Always had been.

If Optimus wanted him, he could have every last scrap of Megatron.

 

Optimus’ optics widened at that. “I thought you -- I mean, I thought you wouldn’t like it like… that.” So much about Megatron had always been dependent on power, on his personal dominance of everything around him. It’d gone on so long, even Optimus had been totally taken in by it.

His gaze slid down. “I am fine with either way,” he admitted, “More than fine.”

His servos fluttered around a little, unsure of where to go, before settling at Megatron’s hips. He was close enough to make out the fine details, and this time, there was no time crunch.

“Shouldn’t we find a berth for this?”

 

“No,” Megatron could feel the hesitation, swirling around Optimus with glaring clarity. The mech had little idea of what to do, how to take the lead. Granted, it had been a long time for Megatron as well, but he had had dalliances to ease his life now and then. And he had contemplated having Optimus in this position for even longer. Now was not the time to cut back on those desires. 

“We can make this happen right here,” his voice grew low, powerful engine rumbling through his chassis. 

He leaned forward to kiss Optimus. It was a wondrous privilege, being free to do so and Megatron enjoyed it with reckless abandon. Working his glossa into the Prime’s mouth distracted him from the motion of his servos, which ran over the bumpy ventral plating of his former nemesis and drew him close enough for their heavy frames to bump together. They’d be an awkward fit, two big mecha like them, but they could make it work.

Megatron’s vents blew heated clouds of air against Optimus’ frame.

 

Anything else Optimus could’ve said fizzled into nothingness as he returned the kiss eagerly, mind playing with all the possibilities Megatron’s words offered. The suite they were in was dominated by a big central desk, with command consoles lining the windows. Another blind grope of the console under them clicked the door shut. Privacy was now theirs.

Optimus’ vents cycled air, cooling systems that steadily heated. He felt a burst of excitement coursing through his limbs, trying to make him move but Optimus was rooted to place, able to concentrate only on Megatron. His constant worries over politics, over balancing this weight with that problem, all of it always running at the back of his mind were blown away, replaced by a awe that this was something he could have only for himself. 

Megatron found a willing Optimus to be the most enticing mech he’d ever encountered. With both of their cooling fans on, the room was filled with a steady rumble and mounting pressure. There was also pressure behind his long unused panels, and Megatron delighted in the anticipation. Optimus didn’t move, didn’t seem to know how to initiate whatever could be happening between them right now. Megatron would have to guide him. Gently, his servos slid over the Prime’s aft, following the solid metal to his front, which was wedged firmly to his own. There was hardly room for his fingers to do more than to stroke deftly here.

“Relax...” he purred, parting from the kiss only to let his lips travel over Optimus’ jaw to his neckcables. He had to bend down for it, their massive plating meeting here and there in awkward scrapes. 

 

_ Relax _ . Like it were so simple. How was Optimus meant to relax when Megatron kept winding him up tighter? The touch to his panel was a surprise, and Optimus spared a thought to try and remember the last time he’d engaged in intimacy deeper than friendship. It was a depressingly long time, so long his memories of it were smudged and blurry.

There had to be something wrong when Optimus knew how to shoot someone through the optics for a clean kill that obliterated their processor and left their helm intact more than he knew to handle foreplay. He tilted his helm back for Megatron obligingly, fingers tracing a meandering path up his back as Optimus searched for transformation seams.

He released a shuddering sigh as Megatron’s mouth brushed over his neck. A forgotten protocol blared  _ danger _ as he felt dentae ghost over vital cables. It would be so easy to kill him in this position… rip out his main fuel pump, those gentle servos turning to vices that could crush metal between them like so much paper…

_ Relax.  _ Optimus repeated it, trying to control the errant caution that threatened to spoil the moment. He was so tired of always fighting, but his instincts kept drawing him back to it. Even this gentle moment felt like being too vulnerable. Ready to be killed.

_ Relax.  _ His touch became more frantic, no longer weakly trying to touch and instead, digging under all the places he knew Megatron was weak. Optimus refuted the direction of his thoughts with more passion, vents heightening.  _ Relax. Relax. _

He let the first ping pass through, not even trying to be ashamed as both panels flicked back. He’d meant it when he said either way was more than fine.

 

Megatron got what he wanted, Optimus opening up rather compliantly under his touch, but there was no way to miss the rising tension in his former nemesis. Optimus was caught somewhere between fighting him off and letting him continue, and that was not the kind of state that ended in overload. Megatron subdued his own, eager attentions, instead travelling back up to capture the Prime in another kiss, this one soft, almost polite in the way his glossa merely traced his bottom lip and then retreated.

It was far more delicate than any of the touches between them before. Punching, shooting, ripping and grabbing, all those were familiar. Caressing was alien between them.

But he couldn’t let that deter him.

“Optimus...I won’t hurt you again.” His tone was both apologetic and promising, and he meant every word. He would not cause this mech any more pain than he already had. His own panels slid away quietly, array almost relieved to feel the touch of air and the heated presence of another. Megatron made no motion to move closer though, instead working on knitting their fields together and lowering his defensive protocols completely.

“I want to make you feel good. Please...let me.”

 

_ You’re fond of your promises _ . Optimus didn’t reply, because if he did, he’d backpedal  _ again _ and all the effort of before would be wasted. He was done with this self-enforced loneliness that permeated his every action, keeping everyone far away enough that the messiah and the mech blurred into one. This wasn’t the measured, careful hand on a shoulder or back, implying support but freedom. This was… messy.

Optimus slid his servo down between them because it was high time he’d taken a page out of Megatron’s book. The first contact with the mesh was startling -- softness on Megatron, what a strange juxtaposition -- and Optimus bit the glossa that dared linger so near his mouth.

_ I’m done waiting. _

 

Optimus could still surprise him, after four million years. Megatron gave a rumble of a moan as reward for the bold touch and ground his hips forward in encouragement. He’d not let anyone touch his valve, it was a particular Decepticon traditional sign of weakness to surrender access to it and he had been the epitome of his faction. Well. that was truly gone and past now. 

He crushed his mouth to Optimus’ in another kiss, servos tight on the Prime’s plating. Submitting himself to Optimus used to be his feverish nightmare before it had become a desired daydream. Those servos had crushed parts of him in so many battles and now, they found the tender mesh walls inside of him. His field pulsed encouragement, his valve approval. His spike glowed red with biolights, but he was content to ignore its pressure for the moment.

 

Pushing a finger inside Megatron’s valve was a moment of surreality so intense, Optimus couldn’t help but wonder if this was some highly detailed dream or a fever vision visiting him…

Then his EM field flared, the kiss stealing his startled sounds, and Optimus came to the understanding that this  _ was  _ in fact, reality. They were here, after four million years and hundreds of near-death experiences, to a time where Megatron and Optimus Prime could be in each other’s embrace while the latter slid in a second finger.

It was soft and a fleeting thought of what it would feel like around his spike was enough to make his engine turn over, threatening to red line if he kept this going. The biolights on his spike pulsed with each desperate whirl of his spark, as Optimus imagined the heat around his fingers around his spike instead.

 

Megatron would have let feel just that, if he could think to position himself. As it was, the entirely alien sensation of something penetrating his valve was drawing in all of his processor power. It felt so vulnerable, letting Optimus do this, but he made no effort to try and stop his former nemesis. He wanted this. He wanted Optimus to have something of him, because Optimus gave all of himself away. This lonely summit of Autobot power that had ceased to be a mech in the optics of most of their kind. Megatron wanted Optimus to lose himself in him, and remember that he was alive. Ambitious, perhaps, a little poetic, at best, but it was crystallizing in his processor.

He felt his valve walls contract a little, testing out if it felt good to have a foreign frame invade him. Transfluid leaked thickly from his ignored spike, but Megatron made no motion to relieve it of the beginnings of a mess. 

Breaking their kiss afforded him an opportunity to cycle air out and a groan. These protocols predated this frame and he wouldn’t be surprised if somewhere inside of his valve, remnants of a seal remained. Of course he had self-serviced, but he’d never bothered with any tools, so the ‘factory’ seal would still be covering a cluster of nodes. Would Optimus be charmed at the notion, or repulsed? 

He’d have to wait and see. 

“I’m not made of glass, Prime.” he growled when the touches continued to be too light and delicate to give him anything remotely close to pleasure.

 

“I’m just making sure,” Optimus replied, even as he delivered a pinch to a node inside Megatron, “that I’m doing this  _ correctly _ . I don’t want to end up hurting you.”

He complied anyway, adding a third finger and speeding up the pumping of his servo, more forceful even though a part of him advised caution. Megatron was right. He’d dealt with more than a few strong touches.

It was when he encountered a block in his exploration that Optimus paused, curiosity written across his face. He ventured deeper, feeling out what the obstruction was. It was smooth and covered everything beyond it…

“Your seal?” he asked. “I didn’t think you would’ve kept it.”

Inside Megatron, he was still feeling out the boundaries of the seal, carefully digging into see if he could get it out somehow. It resisted his efforts, stubbornly remaining in place no matter how Optimus stretched and pulled along the edges.

“I haven’t exactly had opportunity or reason to get rid of it.” Megatron bit his lip when Optimus continued tugging at the damn thing. It just served to make his valve clench harder, demanding something more filling to stretch it out. The seal would be in the way, but most spikes were shaped in ways that helped loosen it once enough transfluid accumulated around it. He was producing some already, warm, thick droplets smearing on Optimus’ servo.

“I’ve never wanted anyone to frag me like I do right now,” he groaned in frustration when the Prime kept picking instead of fulfilling Megatron’s needs.

 

“I don’t want to hurt you,” Optimus said, stubborn, even if his spike agreed with Megatron. He hooked a thumb into the edge of the seal, and tugged on it. He felt it give way a fraction. Another tug, another tiny bit of movement. “What if we accidentally tore something?”

Little by little, Optimus tried to work out the seal. His spike gave another twinge, urging him to just  _ leave  _ it, but that was the kind of foolishness that ended in valve tears and things stuck in other things. “Patience.”

 

Megatron gave a woeful moan at that. His patience was the last thing he wanted stretched out right now, but of course Optimus had to be infuriating and stubborn and thorough about this, just as everything else. The massive mech revved his engine, spreading his legs a little further in invitation. He kissed fervently along Optimus’ face, trying to entice him to give up some of that meticulous self-control. 

“Optimus, you can’t keep me waiting like this.” 

Well, he could, but Megatron didn’t want to give him that option. His servo delved down to Optimus’ open array, finding and firmly gripping the spike he so desperately craved inside of him. It was damp, but not particularly slippery. Megatron traced each ridge, familiarized himself with this part of Optimus that he had never met before.

“I need this. I need _ you. _ ”

 

The last shreds of his patience was already under assault by Megatron’s moans, but the servo around his spike was what broke the dam. Optimus froze where he was trying to coax the seal off, engine going from a low growl to a harsh snarl. 

He looked up, biting his lip. Megatron always knew just what to say to penetrate Optimus’ defenses.

He let Megatron guide him to his valve, optics flickering as the tip sank in, followed by the rest. He met the seal less than halfway in and Optimus hissed with frustration at how it stopped him from fully burying himself in Megatron. Bracing his servos on Megatron’s hips, he thrust. It was still there but maybe he could just loosen it up, and out of the way...

 

The seal went pretty flawlessly with that first thrust. Megatron clutched his servos to Optimus, but didn’t hamper his movements at all. His optics dimmed as a pleased moan escaped his vocalizer. Yes. This was exactly what he wanted. Optimus, sinking in deeper, stretching that unused valve, claiming it for himself after millenia of waiting. Megatron moved one servo to the window he was braced against, needing more leverage to move against the Prime.

“Optimus...” he purred again, engine humming loudly, fans subdued for now as he allowed heat to rise through his massive frame. His protocols were slow to be overturned, but he enjoyed every moment of it happening. They could have had this so long ago...He looked down, perversely pleased that Optimus was joined against him so very tightly.

“We should have done this a long time ago.” he felt  _ great _ .

 

“In the middle of a battlefield, with gunfire over our heads?” Another thrust, and the seal was dislodged a little more. Optimus watched Megatron, who wasn’t even trying to conceal the enjoyment on him. He liked this. Something about that thought thrilled Optimus, enough for him to push into his valve harder, faster.

That damnable seal was there, but as more fluids joined what was in his valve already, the thing finally fell out of place. Optimus thrust in fully this time, moaning as he felt Megatron engulf him entirely. He held Megatron, using him to hold himself up so his knees wouldn’t go out under him. “Is -- Is this okay?”

_ You’re not hurt?  _

 

“For frag’s sake, Optimus.” Megatron growled, this time aggressively as the wonderful motion eased up. If the mech spent that energy he put into his worrying into fragging, Megatron would be halfway to delirious with pleasure by now, he was sure of it.

“It feels great. Now please, get back to letting me enjoy the girth of your spike.” He wanted to swear and curse more, but he doubted that it would be the right method of getting Optimus in the mood. Instead, he settled his temper, placing apologetic kisses against Optimus’ helm.

“Does it feel good for you? Spiking me?”

 

“It does,” Optimus murmured as he picked up the pace, servos creeping over his hips and grabbing his aft for more leverage. Optimus leaned closer, ignoring the way their plating met awkwardly in the middle to kiss Megatron again. The console creaked alarmingly under their shared weight and Megatron’s spike was trapped between them, leaking transfluid all over their plating, but the moment was only enhanced by the details.

 

Megatron did not care for the mess they were making. There was a spike pulsing in him and although the sensation was alien, it was utterly welcomed. He’d never felt closer to Optimus and he poured everything unspoken into the kiss between them. After another couple of moments of him just enjoying the raw feeling of Optimus inside of him, he tested out the responsiveness of his calipers, if he could tighten them in a specific order or not. His spike rubbed between their frames and somehow, that awkward pressure felt good too.

The moan rumbled through his entire frame, a garbled, breathless version of Optimus’ designation. More, harder, deeper...all these commands, he issued via his field, via their private commlink, anything and everything he could share with Optimus right now. Four million years of waiting...he wanted Optimus to frag him for hours.

 

Optimus sucked in a breath when he felt Megatron’s valve move around him. What already was there was engine revving enough, but when he felt him begin to clench… he ground his dentae, EM field fluctuating as he let out a ragged series of moans against Megatron’s mouth. His valve clenched around nothing, frustrated, and fluid slid down his thigh as he thrust. He could feel the heat of Megatron’s spike and wondering about what it would feel like in him only made his valve ache more.

His glossa delved into Megatron’s mouth as Optimus held onto him greedily, as if he feared he might disappear if Optimus let go for even a moment. All the forms of communication between them were overwhelmed with sounds and feelings, bouncing back and forth and fueling the flames.

 

Megatron had no time to contemplate Optimus’ valve, because his own was giving him the kind of charge a mech could get addicted to with ease. He could begin to understand why some mecha used their valve exclusively. 

The tight grip, the possessive and explorative glossa in his mouth, every sense filling with Optimus. Finally, the universe was taking a backseat to their emotions. Finally, he’d pushed Optimus beyond his stoic demeanour. 

“More...” he demanded, though he wasn’t sure what the Prime could give him. He was already sinking to the hilt into Megatron, their frames bumping together loudly.

 

Megatron was always pushing him, wasn’t he? Always going beyond the limits, always trying achieve a goal Optimus could only guess. He did that back then, and he did that now, and who was Optimus to deny him?

He forgot his previous concerns about care. Since when did Megatron need much care anyway? They both knew the threshold of each other’s bodies, and this here barely scratched the surface of what they could endure and still come out swinging. Metal screeched and dented as Optimus dug his fingers in, grey paint marred with red and white, his constant need to hold back and take care dropping away in the face of Megatron’s demands. 

“Megatron…” he grit out, vents roaring, charge racing up his spinal strut. He clawed down Megatron’s back, optics blazing into blue-white as he arched forward, overload crashing through his systems. 

 

Optimus reacted exactly as Megatron wanted. The hard thrusts wouldn’t dent Megatron’s thick plating, not until the Prime’s servos began digging through paint. The pinpricks of minimal pain only heightened the sensation and Megatron’s engine howled. The overload charge rippled through Optimus, latching onto Megatron and sending a white-hot burst into all of his nodes over the Prime’s  spike. Megatron nearly cracked his helm on Optimus’ shoulder as he lost himself into his own overload, the charge mingling together and creating sparking bursts all over both mecha. 

It took forever to subside. Megatron felt his valve still clenching Optimus’ spike, his insides drenched with transfluid. The fit was so snug that none of it was dripping out, instead pooling within Megatron.

He gave a little wince of pleasure before he chuckled, resting his helm on the Prime’s shoulder.

“I knew you wouldn’t disappoint me. You never do.” 

 

Plating ticked as it slowly cooled, heat escaping out through seams as Optimus sagged into Megatron. He still didn’t pull out even when he managed to straighten -- venting hard and slightly shaky -- and wrapped his arms under Megatron’s shoulders, pulling him off the console and to the floor.

He was heavy, but nothing Optimus couldn’t handle. Settling under the mech, Optimus dimmed his optics. Fluid was dripping between his plating, down his thighs -- who it belonged to, he couldn’t even tell at this point.

Processor sluggish, mood entirely satisfied and warm, Optimus didn’t put much attention to what he was saying. “I can’t believe we waited so long for that. We… we have a lot of time to make up for. Thank Primus I made you my co-captain, it’ll make things so much easier.”

His optics offlined.

“I love you.”


	4. Chapter 4

Not many things moved Megatron into complete silence, but Optimus had a way with words. Or with dropping the mood into something serious. He’d gone and said what they had avoided so well, and as Megatron listened to their heated frames cooling, the weight of those words sank into his spark. His oldest enemy. The only one he ever bothered to understand so deeply, whose life had been a hindrance, an inspiration. Optimus meant more to Megatron than he did to the Autobot faction, to his oldest friends.

They were draped over each other, messy, wet, hot. But for one perfect moment, completely happy, and together.

Megatron remained silent, but he held Optimus as close as he could. He didn’t deserve this mech or his love. He didn’t deserve so free a confession or the affection that came with it. And yet, he hungered for it anyway.

He turned Optimus’ face to him, pressing another soft kiss to those lips only he got to see. 

“You know I do too.”

 

“Do I?” The question came out without thought, but it was startling in its honesty.  _ Did  _ Optimus know Megatron felt the same? It seemed so strange -- the unsaid was supposed to be that; unsaid. And yet, Optimus had broken the rule and Megatron had followed suit.

Optimus couldn’t find it in himself to be too displeased by that.

He ran a servo down Megatron’s back, finding the grooves. Optimus hissed in sympathy. “Sorry,” he murmured, trying gauge how deep they were. Some of the paint on his servos had rubbed off -- likely onto Megatron’s back.

“Maybe I should commission a private hall between our quarters. It would make matters quite simple, don’t you think?” And wasn’t that a thrilling thought, being able to just walk in whenever he wanted, knowing  _ he  _ was wanted.

 

“It would.” Megatron could just picture that. Only he doubted the Prime would come without bidding and instead, he’d been pining for any sound behind that door, in that hall. They had a thing for _ not _ sharing such moments in a berth.

“We may not have the resources on hand to facilitate it, but if we can have a private hall, we can manage the ritus.”

Optimus did say he wanted this to have strings attached. Perhaps it was time to find out how willing the Prime was to commit to that notion. Megatron wasn’t willing to wait anymore, knowing he had a limited amount of time left to make up for a lifetime of war.

 

“The… ritus?” For a moment, Optimus’ mind went blank, trying understand what Megatron meant. Then the dots connected and his optics flared online, looking at Megatron with unabashed shock. “You want to do that? With  _ me _ ?”

_ Frankly, we already filled the quota enough times to fuel several lifetimes.  _ The thought came unbidden, but a grin came over Optimus anyway.

“Do you mean… now?”

“I certainly don’t need to wait and see if you’re the right mech for the choice.” Megatron watched that grin blossom on Optimus’ face and he was taken aback by how unexpectedly happy that expression made him. He’d surprised the Prime, but it was a good surprise, for a change. He owed Optimus far more than his spark, but it was all he could offer.

Four acts of affection. What about acts of aggression? Did those reduce the worth of the four symbolic instances? Megatron and Optimus could probably become as intertwined as they liked and there would still be a lifetime of violence between them that was bound to put a dampener on their union.

“I don’t want to wait anymore, Optimus. You and I know it has never been hate that tied our fates together. I am more than willing to be yours. In any way you’ll allow it.”

 

“I would be honored,” Optimus said, sitting up. “I would like to be your conjunx endura, if you’ll have me.”  _ Oh Primus, this is happening. _

Hesitantly, his chest panels shifted back, showing his sparkchamber. He didn’t open that yet, nervous. “I’m sure there should be a speech for this but… I’m tired of those. We know. Why, how,  _ what _ … we understand it. And that’s all we need.”

“I want a spark bond.”

 

“Right now?” Megatron chuckled, both amused and oddly giddy about it. Optimus wasn’t backing out of this, and so how could he? His chestplate downright creaked as it opened, his spark not being exposed since the last time his protoform took severe damage. Which was a long, long time ago.

However, he waited before the green light of his spark could fill the room. He reached out, traced the edge of Optimus’ chest, worry seeping through him now that he thought about the potential consequences.

“Optimus...if you’re bonded with me...the Knights, Cybertron...If it is my fate to die, it will be  _ excruciating _ for you. I just promised not to put you through more pain. Are you absolutely sure I’m worth this?” he traced the outline of Optimus’ sparkcasing reverently.

 

“Life wouldn’t be worth much without you by my side,” Optimus said honestly. His spark showed itself, rays of brilliant blue joining the green. He reached up and took hold of Megatron’s servo, squeezing it reassuringly. “And no matter how much I tried, you wouldn’t die. I’m not too worried.”

His optics trailed down to the green spark. “Point One Percent. A lot of people are surprised when they learn I’m just another blue, like them.”

 

“You don’t need a special spark to be the exemplary leader and warrior you are, Optimus. I think it stands you in greater stead that you are, indeed, a blue spark.” Megatron was still not bringing himself closer, his own servos running over his own helm. To undo latches that few mecha knew existed. 

This sensory equipment was the only relic he’d kept from his mining frame, and it was delicate indeed. As Megatron pulled the heavy helmet off and placed it at his side, the thin panels unfurled themselves, straightening slowly and fanning out atop of his helm.

“You are the noblest spark I know. And you’ll know just how much you are to me in just a moment.” 

He opened the last of his sparkchamber, green tendrils reaching for Optimus with Megatron’s typical greed.

 

Optimus was torn between two great visions -- Megatron’s spark, so brilliantly spectacular, and the beautiful panels that unfurled around his helm, arched up like a crown. He scooted closer, bringing his chest closer so their sparks could meet halfway. There was burst of light as the plasma touched, and Optimus sighed.

His servos went to the panels, carefully touching the gold patterns, stroking the edges reverently. The connection between their sparks was growing, their identities flowing into each other over rivers of plasma.

“I love you,” Optimus said again, face lighting up as he touched Megatron, “It gets easier after the first time.  _ I love you _ . I can’t believe I waited so long to say that.” 

 

“Are you trying to tell me something?” Megatron’s systems rushed with the raw connection between their sparks and he felt nothing but sweet relief to share himself so utterly with Optimus. The love he had so poorly expressed was present throughout his spark. Memories, thoughts, fears. Everything he had ever known, freely accessible for Optimus. If they had had this bond before his trial, Optimus could have had all of his answers. Well. He wouldn’t have been able to sit judgment on his own conjunx endura though.

Optimus’ touch to his crest was a delicate but solid grounding, giving him an anchor amidst this flood of emotion and connection.

“I  _ do _ love you. There’s no way I could possibly hide it now. I won’t ever hide it again.”

 

“I am  _ never  _ leaving your berth after this,” Optimus said, diving into the memories the merge offered. He picked through the fantasies, looking at just exactly  _ when  _ Megatron had gone from hate to this. “You inspired me with your book. It was your speeches that really  _ attracted  _ me. Then… everything else happened.”

Optimus engine purred under the constant flow. “I can feel you in me,” he said, lowering a digit to carefully touch the connection between them, “I want to merge again, after this. I  _ want  _ you.”

If Megatron thought he was the only greedy one, he was sorely mistaken.

 

“I can feel that,” Megatron purred, absolutely willing to indulge every single last one of Optimus’ desires. He was careful about looking into the raw data he received, but every time he even gently touched one of Optimus’ memories, it was entirely free of hatred towards Megatron. Pain, disappointment, and a misunderstood yearning for his presence. As if the two of them had been bonded all along, without realizing it.

“I’d be completely unopposed to suspending some of our duties and taking some time to enjoy this,” he too gestured to their connection. It was firm, and warm, and a part of Optimus was very much alive in Megatron. Just as he could feel an anchor of his own in Optimus’ spark. He drew his imminent conjunx in for a kiss, wishing they could completely meld into one for just a moment.

Nothing and no one could part them again. The unending loneliness that was beginning to dissolve was not his own. Optimus had been the one to bring that into their bond, and Megatron would do his damndest to ensure it would never return.

“I’m with you. I will always be with you. You have never been alone.”

 

“Then… will you plug in?” Optimus opened a panel on his inner arm, showing the various ports. Red for medical, white for data, and yellow for miscellaneous. Plugging in was common among friends, or lovers, but Optimus himself never did it much. There were times he’d been in, but only when information needed passing, or his coding reviewed.

Above it, another panel for the jacks opened. Optimus wasn’t sure how compatible Megatron’s frame was to his own -- almost all Autobots were standardized, save the specialty frames and older ones who had their panels installed later in life.

“I just want to be… closer. Even a little bit more.”

 

Plug and play was commonplace among Decepticons who wanted to be close without risking a sparkmerge, but it too was a practice Megatron had little experience in. He hummed with pleasure at the idea of being even closer to Optimus. His cables were hidden high up on his arm, unspooling with ease as he offered all three to plug in. At least they were compatible. The Autobots that had restored this frame seemed to have made sure that Megatron could be accessed.

This exchange would trade their frame specifics as well as temporary data files and it heightened the sensation of their lingering sparkmerge. Megatron’s optics blazed when they connected, information scrolling past in his mind. Everything. He was giving Optimus everything from frame history and weaknesses to everything he’d ever done to himself in terms of upgrades. And that included his control over the antimatter, a yawning pit of power that clamoured to take control over Megatron, yet had been conquered by his willpower.

“We’re  _ one _ ...” Megatron felt every syllable of his short promise in his spark, his frame, his mind. There was no corner left of him that wasn’t unveiled to Optimus.

 

“We always were,” Optimus replied breathlessly, trying to keep up with changes. Like this, he and Megatron were so close Optimus couldn’t find the exact lines between their selves anymore. Megatron’s memories were his memories, Optimus’ emotions Megatron’s emotions. Nothing was forgotten, everything flayed bare before the intensity of their connection.

“Til we are one,” Optimus chuckled. “There can’t be any way to be any closer than this.”

All of him was Megatron’s. It should’ve scared Optimus, but he only revelled in it.

 

Megatron nodded, crest fully extended, optics dimmed in united bliss, indulging the onslaught of information and exchange with the utmost pleasure.

Eventually, their sparks did separate, absolutely sated with each other’s presence, parting lazily with lingering charges of blue and green swirling around each other. Megatron had never felt so fulfilled, so completely serene. 

“I cannot believe you just said til all are one. Don’t think I will forget that or forgive it.” he smiled, genuinely happy that they’d chosen to make this rash decision. They were still connected, plugged in, holding servos, frames pressed together.

 

“Rodimus got it from me,” Optimus said flippantly, “If anything, I should be saying it a lot more.”

Optimus didn’t bother to close his chest. His spark was in the open, connected to Megatron’s, echoes of their peace rebounding through all the ways they were bonded. “I don’t want to stop,” Optimus confessed.

He wanted to immortalize this moment, stretch it out from each edge of infinity so that it would last forever. Ending it felt like giving up something beautiful. He didn’t want to stop being connected, didn’t want the loneliness creeping back again.

 

“It won’t, my dearest conjunx.” Megatron raised Optimus’ servos to his mouth, kissing each digit with unbound affection. They would never feel truly separated again, it was impossible with their sparks this connected. 

“We’re just getting started.”

Taking the utmost care but pushing insistently, Megatron pushed Optimus backwards, making some space between them, only so he could bask in looking over what he could now truly call his. His helm moved, bowed, and Megatron traced Optimus’ sparkchamber with his glossa.

“Ahhhh…” Optimus arched his back, offering more of his sparkchamber to Megatron. His servo went back to the crest, stroking it. The feeling of the glossa on his chamber, wet and warm, sent a frisson of delight straight into his processor. He dug his heels into the floor, moaning.

His fingers worked fitfully, exploring the space between the panels, subtly trying to push Megatron back down for more. Optimus had a taste of pleasure, and he wanted more.

 

Optimus fiddling with his sensor panels had Megatron shudder and mewl against the sparkcasing. It was a surprisingly sensitive part of his frame and it rarely had the chance to be caressed in any form.  He could hardly concentrate on what he was doing, Optimus successfully distracted him. Megatron shivered under his touch.

“If you keep doing that I’m never going to get to your array,” he muttered softly, servos soothing along the sparkcasing that still shimmered with green plasma. 

 

If Optimus could, he would’ve sat Megatron down and gone to town on his crest. As it was now, he only managed a stuttering reply, twitching each time Megatron touched his sparkchamber. The touches threatened to overwhelm him, but Optimus couldn’t bring himself to mind. His whole frame was on offer, for whatever Megatron pleased.

 

Playing with Optimus’ sparkchamber had its perks, and Megatron indulged in them slowly. He let his mouth work over the prone metal, feeling plasma touch his face now and then. A heavy, golden arch rested between him and Optimus’ spark. The matrix. That accursed artifact wasn’t even whole anymore, and yet it still insinuated itself between them. Megatron leaned back, unplugging himself carefully from Optimus’ ports. Instead of answering the questioning ping from his new conjunx, Megatron kissed him deeply, before departing for another portion of his lover.

That lovely array was still on full display and Megatron had no qualms about sinking his mouth around Optimus’ spike, fingers playing over the soft mesh of his brilliantly white valve.

 

Optimus wasn’t the kind of mech to bury himself in fantasy -- he’d found that the more he wondered, the sharper the loneliness became. Of course, that didn’t mean Optimus was entirely ignorant to all the possibilities. He’d heard the same salacious rumors as any other mech. Before today, he’d never put much stock into their veracity.

Who knew letting his former arch-enemy put his mouth on his sparkchamber could feel so good? His optics flickered, brightening and dimming in intermittent periods as various alerts came and went through his processor without enough to recognize any of them. Charge flickered across his exposed chest, the gleaming metal wet and steaming as his spark eagerly reached out to caress Megatron’s face with plasma. It was still bloated with the green plasma he’d gotten from Megatron’s spark, the two colors mixing and swirling into a soft teal.

When Megatron unplugged himself, Optimus struggled up,  _ why  _ hovering on the tip of his glossa but it was swallowed up by another kiss he returned happily. He let his helm fall back on the floor when Megatron went down, curiosity sparking up under the blissed out burble of emotions -- curiosity that was answered when he felt a mouth around his spike.

Optimus’ mouth fell open soundlessly, servos seizing as he pushed his heels into the floor, pushing his hips up into Megatron. 

“Megatron…!” he gasped, hoarse.

 

His freshly bonded conjunx couldn’t exactly answer, what with the spike deep in his mouth. He didn’t need expertise to do this well, just applying pressure around it would do. He traced each bump with his glossa, finding the Prime’s spike only modestly detailed but satisfyingly thick. This lovely piece had given him plenty of pleasure, so it was only fair he responded in kind.

With both servos steadying Optimus’ waist, he gave the spike a hefty suck. He desperately wanted to taste the soft mesh of the Prime’s valve, but he was going to demonstrate himself a thorough and patient lover.

 

As Megatron continued to lave attention on his spike, Optimus tried to get a reign on the noises that escaped him. Pressure got low whines, movement a sharp moan. Sucking just rendered him speechless. His servo moved over Megatron’s crest blindly, jumping between petting and stroking it as Optimus’ field bloomed with  _ yesyesyes _ .

His spike and valve were both leaking again, internal temperature rising despite having only lowered a fraction since their earlier activities. If this was catching up meant, then Optimus could almost forgive the wait.

 

Megatron didn’t ease up, but there was not much more he could do for Optimus’ spike except let it sink deeper into his mouth. His nose was pressed to Optimus’ abdominal plating, one servo letting go of the Prime if only to return to that beautiful valve. Everything was getting slippery and damp, obvious evidence that he was doing right by Optimus, if the plethora of noises from above were no indication.

Blunt, black fingers slipped over white mesh, teasing along the valve entrance without giving in to the temptation to explore. Megatron traced the rim between mesh and hard armor with a patience he didn’t really feel.

 

Optimus was beginning to understand why Megatron had been so impatient before. Having those fingers tease along his valve, close enough to stimulate but not nearly enough to satisfy was  _ maddening.  _ Optimus rocked his hips, trying to push up into his mouth and yet down on his fingers, unable to decide. He just wanted it  _ all _ .

He hooked a leg around, over Megatron’s back, to keep him in place. The gentle tugging on his crest was just another indication of how much Optimus craved. 

 

If he could chuckle he would but Megatron was enraptured with his task and trying to keep himself from turning into a mewling mess thanks to his sensitive crest. 

As punishment for his constant distraction, Megatron let two blunt fingers slide into the pristine valve. How long had it been for Optimus? Everything felt eager and new around his digits, calipers spiralled open and mesh straining for him. Optimus not fragging throughout the war made a terrible amount of sense, even if it was tragic. The pure physical relief of an overload could not be underestimated. Decepticons certainly understood how refreshing it could be.

Megatron pulled off of Optimus’ spike, very slowly, kissing along the length of it until he reached the base and angled his head so his glossa could flick lazily over the Prime’s anterior node.

 

Even two fingers was a tight fit. It had been a long time since Optimus had even considered looking at anyone like that. His valve stretched around the fingers inside, then his calipers cycled down around them, holding them in place. Just having them inside sent a lightning jolt up Optimus' back, and he held Megatron's crest, no longer stroking him.

The loss of his mouth on his spike brought a protesting whine from him, though it was quickly handled when he felt a glossa swipe over his node.

Venting hard, Optimus managed to muster up the ability speak. “I… I still have my seal…” However Megatron wanted to deal with it was up to him.

 

Megatron kissed the valve before him, stilling for a moment so he could gather his wits. Optimus, sealed...did that mean he’d never broken it or he had it replaced when he was rebuilt? He could search the Prime’s memories for it later.

“Your array is mind-blowing, Optimus,” he praised as he returned to said gorgeous valve with renewed vigor, glossa swiping over the node as those fingers began to move gently, trying to persuade the calipers to loosen up. He couldn’t move his hand otherwise and it would be tough to remove said seal like that.

 

It took effort to comply, but little by little, his valve stopped clenching down so hard on those fingers. There were still brief flutters when Megatron touched a particularly sensitive spot, but Optimus couldn’t control those anymore than he could control his moaning. The praise got a flush of heat, vents working overtime as they tried to cool Optimus.

His overload was there, just out of reach. If Megatron moved a little more, kept a steady pressure to grind on, Optimus could snatch it out of the distant horizon. Yet with the way things were going, it just wasn’t enough.

 

Optimus was still tight around his fingers and it rendered the thought of pushing harder and more into his valve mute. Megatron didn’t mind. He could taste the Prime all day, nose pressed to the base of his spike as he licked that anterior node into overdrive. His fingers tested the mesh, tried to trace along to find any more clusters. A deep rumble of his engine sent a hum through him, vibrations transferring from his frame straight into Optimus’ array.

 

Was Megatron  _ deliberately  _ teasing him? Was that why he didn’t move? Optimus tried to move, to get that servo moving if Megatron wouldn’t do it himself. It still wasn’t enough to satisfy, damn him, but it was better than letting Megatron drive him up the wall.

The subtle vibrations added with the sound of the engine drew a pleased pet from Optimus. He wanted to push Megatron down, urge him to do  _ more _ , but the vibrations were making his servos weak. “Please,” Optimus began, before his thoughts dissipated into formless smoke.

 

Nothing in the universe could have enticed him more. Megatron wanted a hard copy of the way Optimus had pleaded, so softly and sweetly. No one would think their revered Prime could sound so wanton. Or look this desperate. Megatron lifted his helm to dedicate himself to the spike once more, but now, his servo took over in Optimus’ valve. It wasn’t difficult to find room for a third finger, spreading the tight space and viscous transfluid between his digits. Oh, Optimus would send him straight into overload if this wonderful valve came into contact with his aching spike.

“Please what, Optimus? Tell me.” 

 

The third finger was a blessing that Optimus received gladly. There was still the ache inside him, born of being touched but not filled, but the fingers were a delicious stopgap that drew another moan.  

“Please,” he tried again, “Please, I want…”

What  _ did  _ he want? There so many options, so much to do… he couldn’t realistically demand them all now. But maybe…

“Spike me,” Optimus groaned, “Stop teasing and just  _ do  _ it.”

 

Teasing Optimus was a wonderful pastime, but Megatron couldn’t possibly disobey that wish and command. With one last playful suck at the Prime’s spike and one more curl of his fingers, he withdrew, moving his massive frame back up along his conjunx’s. 

“You have no idea how long I’ve wanted to hear that from you.” he recalled the fact they’d shared ALL of their memories with each other, “...alright maybe you do. But I am going to enjoy this deeply, my dear Optimus.”

His spike was damp with transfluid and he strained not to simply thrust it in with one motion. Instead, he rested the head of it flush against Optimus’ valve, using a servo to hold open the first set of calipers as he slid a quarter of his spike in.

The jolt of pure sensation he got from his array had him gasp. Never had anyone felt so good around him. The thin but firm surface of the seal was already nudged by his spike, the sharp contours easily capable of destroying it.

The friction burn, the tight mesh walls, Optimus’ still-open sparkchamber...Megatron let out a long moan, delighted to finally be with the Prime in this way. His spark reached for Optimus again, unwilling to be parted from its counterpart now that their frames were uniting once more.

“All of you. I want all of you.”

 

Megatron was in him properly this time, and Optimus smiled approvingly, stroking his crest and face. The stretch of his spike was greater than his fingers, enough that it hovered on the edge of pain, but the slivers of plasma shared between their open sparks soothed it just as quickly. Megatron wasn’t even in fully, but his valve was reacting accordingly -- clenching around him, trying to pull him in further. The foreign feeling of it bumping against his seal couldn’t compare to the pleasure.

Their activities left a mess over their frames. Their plating was covered with fluid, their fields drunk on each other, even their sparks bore the telltale mark of interfacing and merging so frequently. There would be consequences after this, but Optimus couldn’t care less about the aftermath.

“More,” he urged, “You can’t just… just  _ hold back  _ on me now. Megatron,  _ please _ .”

 

Megatron’s engine roared with approval, their sparks knitting together for another merge and now, the warframe couldn’t handle holding back. He pushed himself in to the hilt, growling as he did so, denting Optimus’ thick armor plating as he set a pace worthy of their massive frames. The echo of metal slamming into metal bled through the room but neither of them cared. Megatron sought Optimus’ mouth for a sloppy, rough kiss, dentae gripping lips and pinching his glossa, all semblance of control vanishing after Optimus’ plea for more. 

They couldn’t be any closer, sparks merged and frames tangled and Megatron felt the charge build to a downright euphoric level. They wouldn’t keep this up long. The seal came off along with his first couple of thrusts, transfluid slicking up their arrays and splashing their frames.

Nothing about their encounter was quiet. The door was sealed and the window darkened, but their interfacing could be heard well outside these walls. Rodimus had stilled when the first moan spilled into the corridor and now he was beside the door, listening, his fans clicking loudly. So he had been right all along. There was something magnetic between Optimus and Megatron and although other mecha had scoffed at the idea of the two of them being more intimately entwined than any enemies ever should, Rodimus’ gut instinct was proven right. Except now he didn’t feel vindicated, he felt utterly, shamefully aroused, heated at just the thought of the two massive mecha interfacing passionately.

 

Everything Optimus had thought previously about being gentle and careful was blown out by Megatron’s actions. There was nothing careful about what they were doing, yet Optimus found no pain, only pleasure. He made it known loudly, his moans reaching their height when he felt the seal give way and Megatron thrust in deeper.

Then they were merging again, so close that their sparkchambers touched, and it added a new height of sensation to know what it felt to be spiked and spike at the same time, feeling what Megatron did from both perspectives, at the same time. The shared parts were as intense as before and two lifetimes flashed before Optimus’ optics, mixing around with Megatron’s face.

With the charge of before still lingering in his systems and now the merge while being spiked, Optimus didn’t overload as much as he tripped into it. There was a breathless pause before it flooded him, whiting out his optics and nearly lifting them both off the ground as Optimus arched up. His valve tightened around Megatron’s spike, while there was another spurt of transfluid between their abdominal plating.

Spent and overloaded, Optimus collapsed, gasping.

 

And Megatron went right down with him, draped over the Prime, shuddering and feeling all of his systems overloaded in the best possible way. Their sparks disentangled as the charge ran over both frames. Megatron had never experienced something so intense. He still didn’t know where he ended and Optimus began. They were one right now, and possibly for the rest of their existence, because even when his and Optimus’ sparkchamber closed gently, he felt every bit of the Prime in every part of him.

“That...is what I call interfacing.” he murmured, content to rest right now and forget about the huge mess they’d made of themselves. Dents running all over each frame, scraped paint and copious amounts of transfluid. And they were definitely not near a washrack or any private quarters. He leaned his helm against Optimus’, meeting his optics with a soft carmine flare of his own.

“I love you.”

It felt right to say, because he felt it throughout his entirety. He grinned.

“I really, _ really _ love you.”

 

“As do I,” Optimus murmured, pushing questing servos back onto Megatron’s crest again. Even tired and post-overload, he couldn’t control the irresistible urge to touch it. He followed the gold patterns again, entire frame humming with contentment. Everything had come together, perfectly.

Optimus kissed Megatron lazily, revelling in the simple contact. “I am rather glad that  _ this  _ was our first time. I can’t think of any other way we could’ve possibly matched this.” Earlier or not, this had been worth the wait.

“Will this be… secret?”  _ Should it be? Can it be? _

 

“They’ll think I’m manipulating you. You could lose a lot of credibility for this.” Megatron didn’t want to always consider politics first, but in his situation, he had to. Optimus was still a very public figure and had the status of a messiah. And now, he’d tainted his entire being by joining with Megatron. If he was in question before for allowing Megatron a chance to live, he’d be under complete siege-fire now that he had taken the former warlord as his conjunx endura. Thinking about it though only gave Megatron a gentle warmth in his circuits. His  _ conjunx _ . Optimus. 

“It’s your decision. I will follow you on it either way.”

 

“Is it possible to hide something like that? We’re so connected that even a small spark inspection might show everything.” Optimus glanced down at his chest, where his spark glowed happily. “Not to mention the side effects, like the bond.”

Their lives were dictated by their people. No matter how Optimus tried, he’d never escape his role in public. All he could do was try and lessen the damage.

“Perhaps we’ll keep it secret until I can retire. Once I stand down from power, maybe no one will care.” He was doubtful, even as he said it.  _ Everyone  _ cared. Cared more than Optimus himself. “Only those closest to us will know.”

 

“It’s probably wise. I’m sure your medic friend will be thrilled. He warned me about being too close with you.” Megatron groaned as Optimus continued to touch his crest, which furled a little at the caresses.

“You know that’s probably the most sensitive part of my frame, right?”

 

“Ratchet? He says many things, but he rarely means most of them.” He looked at Megatron, and decided to amend his statement. “Unless they’re about you. He means most of those. He won’t tell anyone if I ask him not to, though. He’s not that spiteful.”

There was a curl of glee in him when Megatron groaned. His strokes paused, interest piqued. “I didn’t know. I just thought it looked very charming on you. I haven’t hurt you, have I?”

 

“No...you haven’t.” Megatron let the thin little plates move a little, the crest as expressive as other mecha’s finials or Optimus’ antenna.

“I don’t know why I never got it removed. I suppose some part of me wanted to remember where I came from.” Ironic, because in all of his years, he’d easily forgotten about that part of his frame, the heavy helmet a much more fitting adornment than thin sensory plates covered in hazard yellow stripes. 

 

“You were a miner,” Optimus recalled, exploring the crest with a much daintier touch, “I’m glad you never got them removed. I like them.” Megatron looked different like this, without his helmet, but Optimus was quickly growing to like this look as well. Despite it all, he was still Megatron.

They shifted as he petted them, to Optimus’ delight. “Could you keep your helmet off, in private? I want to see these more.”

 

“...You really like them?” Megatron moved the panels again, reactively to Optimus’ touch which seemed to bring his conjunx a perplexing amount of joy. He wasn’t planning on removing them any time soon, especially now that he knew that he needed to stay grounded so he’d never repeat his mistakes of the past.

“Only in private. They look...strange. Make my helm look crowned. I don’t appreciate the irony in that.”

 

“It  _ is  _ rather majestic,” Optimus agreed, “But if you want absolute honesty, I think it’s… beautiful.”

Megatron himself always had been a study of attraction in strong, plain lines. He wasn’t designed for aesthetic loveliness, but somehow, he radiated an absolute mastery of himself that made him more handsome than any Towers noble. Cybertron’s changing beauty standards could be credited to Megatron’s revolution, even if others argued over whether it was the mech himself or the rising status of the working class.

“If you don’t want to show it, it’s your call.”

 

“I don’t mind showing it to you. You’re my conjunx endura, after all.” Megatron rested his helm in Optimus’ servos, feeling an absolute serenity that he had been searching for his entire life, or so it felt. There was nothing that could convince him that this was a mistake in any form.

 


End file.
